


Pop Secret

by Squidbittles



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Untouched, M/M, Sexy blood drinking, Vampirism, pens monthly, post-concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 15:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidbittles/pseuds/Squidbittles
Summary: Sid's always considered himself lucky. He's not sure where the accidental vampirism falls, though.





	Pop Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenfists](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/gifts).



> Really enjoyed writing for the 3 on 3 challenge! I hope my recipient has as much fun with this as I did.

Sidney’s always considered himself lucky. He gets to play professional hockey for a living, and there’s always been an element of pure luck involved there - luck of birth, circumstances, health. He’s lucky that he got to play at all, lucky that he can keep playing. He tries not to think about it too hard, just puts his head down and works hard, harder, and tries to feel like he’s earning it. He can’t control luck, chance, fortune. But he can control how he responds. 

Maybe that’s why the concussion scares him so much. He tries to stay positive, to remember that luck got him where he is, but working hard is what _kept_ him in the NHL. But two stupid chance hits is all it takes to knock him out of the game, maybe forever. He can’t hard-work his way through the nausea, the migraines and light-sensitivity, the dizziness. 

He gets better, but really...that’s mostly luck, too.

Luck and a vampire bite in the back of a dark club he really shouldn’t have been in in the first place. 

He wakes up on his couch with what feels like the worst hangover he’s ever had, though it’s hard to distinguish hangover from concussion. The light coming in through the blinds pierces his eyes. He closes the blinds and sleeps most of the day away, only staggering to the bathroom to pee and throw up a few times. 

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Sid to figure just what the hell actually happened in that club. And by the time he does, it’s summer and his concussion has apparently been _healed by his vampirism_. And then there’s the lockout and the shortened season and he’s figured out how to make sure the sun doesn’t crisp him up, but he’s never had to deal with...with _bloodlust_ on top of his in-season caloric intake. 

It’s possible he lets himself get a little too hungry sometimes and it’s...it’s not _fine_ , but he manages. Dana sneaks him a couple of extra blood bags and that’s usually enough, if not wholly satisfying. He makes it work. Right up until he breaks his fucking jaw. 

He’d laugh at the strictly liquid diet, but he’s too busy being hungry constantly. No amount of shakes or soup or Type O+ is enough to keep him full. It makes him maybe a little stupid. Stupid enough that once he gets cleared for solid foods again, he lets the team take him out for dinner and drinks. A nice restaurant turns into a club in the name of team bonding, and Sid is looking forward to it, looking forward to the smoky dark anonymity of a back hallway. He’s pretty sure that if he can eat a steak, he can sink his teeth into a willing neck.

He tries not to be too obvious about scoping out potential partners, but between the concussion and the new season and the jaw - and the fact that the last time he tried to pick up it got him a case of vampirism - he’s a little rusty. He must look as helpless as he feels because Geno sidles up next to him at the bar a few minutes late signaling the bartender for another beer.

“You look?” he asks, just loud enough for Sid to hear him. He doesn’t quite meet Sid’s eyes, and Sid doesn’t know how to tell Geno what he wants. He hasn’t told _anyone_ on the team, just management. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he’s not sure how - _if_ he can even broach the subject.

“I. Um. Kind of,” Sid says finally. Geno’s still not quite looking at him, and Sid watches the pulse in his neck jump a little. For a moment, he can imagine it - firmly pressing his hand to the base of Geno’s spine, leading him back to the dimly lit hallway, or maybe outside into the early spring night. He’d press Geno up against the wall, press himself up against Geno - that long line of muscle and warmth just _waiting_ for him…

“You want?”

Sid jerks out of his...Jesus, his _fantasy_ about his _teammate_ , and stares at Geno, uncomprehending because there is no way that Sid heard him correctly. “Um,” he says, very articulately.

“I’m help wingman,” Geno offers again, finally looking Sid in the eye. It’s Sid’s pulse that jumps this time. He could say yes. It’s on the tip of his tongue. Geno is an excellent wingman, something Sid’s witnessed hundreds of times over the years, but this - he can’t imagine Geno helping him find someone and then just...taking them to a dark corner like he’d just been fantasizing about doing to Geno. This was such a bad idea. 

“I...no. I’m good, G,” he says instead. “I actually think I’m going to go ahead and head home.”

“You don’t want anymore?”

Sid swallows, resolutely ignoring Geno’s skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t think there’s anyone out there for me tonight.” It’s only partially a lie. This was a stupid plan, thinking he could just casually pick up someone without it becoming a Thing for his teammates. He’s hungry, but he’s got blood bags at home, he can wait another night and look for a quick suck tomorrow, away from prying eyes and well-intentioned teammates. Away from a whole different kind of temptation.

“You sure? Share ride, maybe?” 

“Um. Yeah, okay,” he gives in because it would be weird _not_ to share a ride and tries not to think too hard about being in the back of a cab with Geno when he’s feeling like _this_. 

They’re both a little too big for the back of the car - Sid too broad and Geno too long. He’s putting off heat like it’s the middle of winter; Sid can feel the heat pumping through Geno’s veins and he kind of wants to curl against him and absorb all of it. In the closeness of the cab, it’s almost unbearable. Sid’s so eager to get out of the cab that by the time they roll up to his house, he’s already got his wallet out and a fifty ready for the driver. He’s doing his best to just focus on getting out of an enclosed space where all he can smell is _genogenogeno_.

 _Stupid_. He’s never been this hungry before, never felt such an all consuming _need_. He needs to get back into his house, where he can chug a nice safe blood bag until he doesn’t feel like he’s about to pop fang. He never should have gone to the club in the first place.

He’s aware of the sound of the cab driving off as he unlocks the front door but it still takes him a moment before he realizes that the sense of _Geno_ hasn’t departed now that he’s out of the car. There’s heat at his back and a familiar heartbeat and _oh no_. 

“Geno, what?” Sid snaps. 

Geno doesn’t say anything, just reaches around Sid to turn the doorknob. Sid tries to stare him down, but Geno waits him out, just like he always has, until Sid gives up and walks into the house. Geno follows behind him, all the way into the kitchen, where Sid gets down a couple of glasses for water. They drink awkwardly, cool water doing nothing to slake the thirst Sid feels.

“What are you doing, Geno?” he finally asks. 

“What _you_ doing, Sid?” he counters, setting his glass down. 

“Nothing.” It’s a reflexive response, even as Sid knows it’s not going to cut it. 

“Nothing? Nothing is go out for pick up and just leave, no girl, no boy?”

“I’m allowed to change my mind, G.”

“You’re act weird, Sid. Weird for months.”

He has to bite back a hysterical laugh. “It’s been a weird year.” 

“Yes. I worry,” Geno says, and his face is so...so _earnest_ , so familiar...Sid swallows. 

Geno has been one of the most important people in his life for so long and Sid can feel the hunger boiling up again and with it the recklessness that made picking up a rando in a club seem like a good idea.

“I...you’re right. It’s. I’ve been hiding stuff from you and from the team.” Geno’s hand on his forearm is hot and heavy. Supportive. “It’s not an awful secret...it was just a secret.” Sid sucks in a breath. “So, uh. I’m a vampire. Now.” He keeps his eyes on Geno, almost afraid to look away. 

He can see the gears turning in Geno’s head, can _smell_ the moment he understands just what Sidney had been trying to do in that club. And that - Sid wasn’t expecting that response. Geno’s pulse picks up, a rhythmic throbbing just below his skin and Sid’s nostrils flare. 

“How long?” Geno asks. 

“Since, uh. You know when I relapsed?”

“Concussion?”

“Yeah, well. It wasn’t the concussion getting worse. I got bitten and it kind of...fixed my brain”

“You’re want?”

Sid shakes his head and stares down at his water glass. “It was an accident. In a bar, actually. I’m glad in a way, but I didn’t go out intending to get bitten.”

Geno snorts out a laugh and Sid grins a little. It’s nice to see the humor in the whole stupid thing. “So what’s tonight? Another accident?” he asks. 

Sidney doesn’t blush as easily as he used to, but he can feel his cheeks start to heat up. “No, no. I just - I’m still learning how to manage the uh. Hunger. Especially after my jaw...” 

Geno frowns, hand clamping down on Sid’s arm. “Hunger? You hunt? Need to feed?”

Sid closes his eyes. “I have blood bags? They’re…” he waggles a hand back and forth. “I was stupid. It’s not going to happen again.”

“So you want...fresh blood?” There’s something in Geno’s voice that Sid can’t quite place. “Like steak instead of protein shake, yes?” Geno’s tongue pokes out and Sid giggles a little. 

“Yeah, pretty much.”

The silence stretches between them as their laughter fades. Geno’s hand is still on his arm, and Sid should have eaten hours ago. Geno smells incredible and he stares at Sid long enough that he’s beginning to wonder if he actually started drooling. 

“So what…” Geno drags his free hand up to rest against his neck, casual and devastating. “What if I give you fresh?”

“Geno, wh - no, you can’t.” Sid wants to pull away. He _should_ pull away. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“Freely given,” Geno says, the phrase awkward but earnest on his tongue. He tilts his chin up at an angle that is borderline obscene and Sid’s jaw begins to ache in a way that has nothing to do with his injury. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sid whispers, but he’s already leaning in, the smell of Geno irresistible. 

“I’m trust you, Sid.”

There’s no mistaking the way Geno’s heart pounds now, and maybe a few months ago he would have taken that as fear, but that’s...Sid knows now what desire smells like. He leans in and feels the tips of his fangs begin to elongate. Geno’s pulse rabbits as Sid noses against the thin skin of his throat.

“Sid,” he exhales shakily. “Maybe couch first?”

Sid moves back, dimly aware of the way his back aches from the awkward angle. He lets Geno drag him to the couch, unable to really focus on anything that isn’t _genogenogeno_. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. Geno sits and Sid follows, only instead of flopping down on the couch next to him, Geno tugs him closer until Sid has no option but to straddle Geno’s lap or crush him. Brain in a fog, he settles, legs spread wide, ass resting against Geno’s thighs, eyes focused on his throbbing pulse.

“G -” he croaks out, but Geno just smiles and slides a hand into Sid’s hair, fingers threading through the curls as he pulls Sid’s head down to his neck.

“Come on, Sid. Bite me.” Sid’s fangs are all the way out now. He presses them against Geno’s skin, points barely digging in. Geno groans, arching his throat. “ _Please_.” 

Sid whimpers and _bites_. The taste is incredible, _hotcoppersweet_ flooding his mouth, sliding over his tongue and down his throat. His entire world narrows down to Geno’s blood pumping into him, Geno’s body beneath him - his hand fisted in Sid’s hair, the other clamped on Sid’s hips. His hips twitch beneath Sid’s thighs and Sid cups one hand around Geno’s cheek to anchor him - the last thing he wants is for Geno to accidentally rip himself away from Sid’s mouth.

“Sid,” he gasps, writhing desperately and Sid takes one more deep pull, mouth working frantically against Geno’s skin. 

He pulls out with an obscenely slick noise and before he can think about it too hard, he laps at the stray droplets of blood on Geno’s neck, tongues over the twin puncture marks on his throat, resisting the urge to bite back down and _take take take_.

Geno’s hand slips out of Sid’s hair and Sid can feel his fingers burning against the skin of his hips. “ _Sid_ ,” he moans again, and Sid’s not sure if he needs to apologize for taking too much blood, or maybe for the way his dick is hard and pressing up against Geno’s stomach.

“Geno -” Sid starts, but before he can pull away, Geno’s grip tightens and he drags Sid’s hips down until there’s no space between them. 

“Like this,” he says, voice hoarse in Sid’s ear. He guides Sid to rock against him and _fuck_ it feels so good, almost as good as Geno’s blood coursing through him. He wonders how it would feel with Geno buried deep inside him, or with his fangs and his cock sunk into Geno at the same time. “Come on, Sid.”

Sidney bites back a cry and comes, nervous system lit up like Canada Day. His awareness comes back in bits and pieces to the feel of Geno’s hands gently petting his back, his face smashed into the side of Geno’s neck. He feels incredible, muscles languid, skin flushed with blood and pleasure. 

“G?”

“Hi Sid.” His voice sounds just as relaxed as Sid feels. “Feel better?”

“Geno, that was…”

“Good, yes? Your jaw okay?”

“It’s good, I’m great, that was incredible. Are you okay? I didn’t take too much, did I?” His face warms as the mess in his pants starts to cool. “Did...did you -“

“Came in my pants, too. Your bite feels…” Geno grins, unrepentant. “Too good. Couldn’t last.”

And that’s so much more than Sid was expecting, more than he had dared hope. “Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“Any time. You want? Just ask, Sid. I’m give you any time you want.”

“Just blood?” Sid asks before he can stop himself. He presses a kiss to Geno’s neck, closed-mouth and chaste against the fading marks of his bite and resists the urge to hide his face. 

“You want more?”

“Maybe...dinner tomorrow?”

“You gonna feed me or eat me?” Geno teases. 

Sid grins, lets his fangs poke out, and relishes the way Geno’s pulse picks back up again. “Maybe both?”

Geno swallows. “Yes, Sid. I’m want.”

“Okay, yeah. Good. Me too.”

Eventually they untangle themselves and shower. Sid pulls out a spare pair of sweatpants and runs a load of laundry because if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s that the sooner you wash jizz-encrusted underwear, the better. 

Geno sets himself back on the couch with a snack and a movie, looking smug and comfortable, and Sid joins him once the washer’s going. He lifts one long arm, and Sid settles up against him.

The playoffs start soon, his jaw is good to go, and he has this. 

Yeah, definitely lucky. 


End file.
